Some (not entirely apolitical) holiday poetry
These are some poems I wrote over the last few years. Enjoy!
Photo by Mel Poole on Unsplash
Dead Santas
I'm waiting to hear something
from right-wing hate media
about the so-called “war on Christmas”
including all the Santa and Mrs. Claus
actors dying from Covid.
Hannity, Bannon, Beck, Shapiro, Carlson,
have already convinced millions
the pandemic is a Democratic party
ploy to turn the country into the Soviet Union;
blaming the dearth of mall Santas
on it as well seems like a no-brainer.
Maybe we shouldn't be giving them
any ideas, although I'm not all that
concerned. I doubt they're into poetry.
The Santa Claus (Don't Lie to Your Children)
It's nearly midnight,
and I just wrote “From Santa”
in red Sharpie
on the present under the ornament
my son stuck together
with felt and popsicle sticks.
There was a time not long ago
I swore I would never
lie to my children like this,
never invoke the hoary, corpulent
somethinggenerian whenever
they misbehaved,
never sit at the kitchen table
with them hammering out
lists of superfluous toys,
never try to explain
how the big guy makes it around
the world overnight in a sleigh,
or how he finagles
his gelatinous frame into
our house without a fireplace.
Eventually they'll become
little forensic handwriting analysts
and figure out why Santa's penmanship
so closely resembles
their mother's, stop
rising at dawn like chickens,
and sign quote marks in the air
when reading “From Santa”
in red Sharpie
as I train the video camera
on their morphing adolescence.
Maybe they'll mean it
when they know never to lie
to their children,
leaving only shredded wrapping paper
in their wakes.
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
It's that time again
for bombast and sanctimony,
when the phony get religious
and the religious get phony.
When wealthy tax cheats
depend on the working class
to keep the economy going
by staying in debt up to their ass.
When elves and angels
stand sentinel at doors
of people who extend pseudo-good will
to those they normally abhor.
When fights ensue
between family members
over whether Jesus Christ
was born in December.
When we're expected to give
gifts people don't need
and living rooms accommodate
gaudy plastic trees.
When there should be thanks
for those around us we love
the other days of the year
we barely think of.
When radio becomes
holiday propaganda
for a fat mythic figure
supposedly named Santa.
When I'm just content
being off with my kids
whom I adore
no matter what day it is.
When they're healthy, happy,
enjoy a good life
with their middle-aged dad
and his beautiful wife.
We don't need Christmas
to guilt us to care
about how much we appreciate
each other all year.